Though there was never “to oneself” in the Tidemore household. “Who is who?”
“Do not allow her to change the subject,” Penelope scolded Poppy as the youngest sister rushed over to the window and leaned around Prudence’s shoulder.
Together, she and Poppy peered below as the carriage door opened. Her heart started and uncaring about milling pedestrians below, she pressed her palms to the window as a familiar leg stepped down from the carriage. “Christian,” she breathed.
“What?” Penelope squawked and abandoning all hard won efforts at decorous behavior, shoved Poppy out of the way.
Poppy grunted and shouldered her way back between the pair.
Christian stood on the cobbled streets a moment and with one hand adjusted the black hat atop his luxuriant, dark gold locks. The muscles of her throat worked painfully as she took in the colorful blooms held in his opposite hand.
“Flowers.” Awe underscored Poppy’s whisper. “He brought flowers.”
As though he felt their gazes upon him, Christian looked up toward the windows. They jumped back and the curtains settled damningly into place.
Prudence pinched her cheeks. “He is here.”
“With flowers,” Poppy reminded needlessly.
Why would he be here if he’d not reconsidered her offer and desired to make her his wife? She slid her eyes closed as a lightness filled her chest.
“Sin will never allow it,” Penelope warned.
A triumphant smile tugged at her lips. “Oh, I daresay Sin may have met his match.” Then with her sisters’ cries punctuating her footsteps, she sprinted from the room.
Chapter 19
Lesson Nineteen
Sometimes Most times your family members will not approve of a gentleman…
The thick carpeting of the Earl of Sinclair’s halls swallowed Christian’s footfalls as the butler escorted him to a meeting with Prudence’s brother. Lit sconces cast a bright glow upon the corridor walls, bathing the spacious halls in light. He may have been born to a baronet and inherited a marquisate, but the earl’s home, with its elaborate gold frames containing painted landscapes and Chippendale furniture, far exceeded even a fraction of Christian’s own, non-existent wealth. The mahogany pieces and gold sconces merely served as a mocking reminder of Prudence’s worth to his own…well, his own rather dismal worth.
The butler led them toward a heavy-paneled, oak door and rapped once. Christian came to a halt beside the servant. He tightened his fingers around the hothouse flowers. A rogue such as he should be filled with panic at the prospect of marriage, and yet, there was none of that. Nothing but a desire to make Prudence his.
“Enter.” The earl’s thunderous voice indicated he’d been anticipating this meeting, and by the fury underscoring that two syllable command, was not in the least happy over it.
Christian cast another glance at the flowers. He strongly suspected Lord Sinclair was about to become a good deal more displeased by this particular visit. The butler tossed the door open and announced him.
“The Marquess of St. Cyr.” With an alacrity likely born of fear, the other man hurried from the room and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Prudence’s brother stood in front of his broad, mahogany desk. Not a ledger out of place, with the unchipped crystal inkwell and immaculate surface, the space was nothing like the cluttered mess Christian found himself working with of late.
They eyed each other a long moment. Silence marched on. Considering Christian had requested the meeting, nay insisted upon it, he forced himself to bow. “Lord Sinclair,” he said tightly.
The earl made no attempt at feigned politeness. “What the hell is that?” He jerked his chin in the direction of Christian’s hand.
Setting the fragrant lilies upon a nearby side table, he strode forward. “They are flowers.”
By the dangerous narrowing of the other man’s eyes, he well knew who those flowers were meant for—and more, what they indicated. A muscle leapt in the corner of Lord Sinclair’s right eye. Then, he surprised Christian. “Would you care to sit?” he motioned to the leather winged back chair opposite his desk. Lord Sinclair moved behind the massive, mahogany piece to claim his own seat. He sat back and rested his arms across his broad, powerful chest. The moment Christian sat, Lord Sinclair pounced. “I thought you had no intentions where my sister is concerned?”
“I did not.” Which had been the truth, until a spirited miss had enlisted his friend’s aid and put an offer of marriage to him. Unless he cared to meet the other man on the dueling field, he’d be wise to keep those particular details to himself.
“And now you do?” Prudence’s brother grinned. As one who donned a practiced grin, he easily recognized it on another.
Christian had never had the patience for Society’s games and he had even less tolerance for this man toying with him as if he were some sort of child called for a scolding. “I am here to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”
The earl’s grin froze. “My sister?”
“Prudence.” There were after all, in sum, three unwed Tidemore sisters.
“I know bloody well which sister you referenced,” he snapped. He unfolded his arms and layered his hands along the sides of his chair. “Why?”
“Because I want her.”
At the quietly spoken words, Lord Sinclair snapped his eyebrows into a hard line.
“You want her?”
Christian shifted in his seat, feeling much like a charge taken to task before his tutor. “I do.”
Sinclair leaned forward and the leather groaned in protest. “I daresay the gentleman who comes to my home and asks for my sister’s hand in marriage should, at the very least, have an immediate answer as to why he’d wed her and not this befuddled silence.”
He’d not really been silent. He opened his mouth to say as much, but with the earl’s scowl thought better of it. After all, as an elder brother himself, he would have already thrown the roguish bastard out of his home who’d dared to ask for her hand. Christian held up his palms and offered him the closest thing to the truth. “I respect your sister. I enjoy her company.”
A menacing growl rumbled from the other man’s chest. “What do you know of her company?”
More than any respectable brother to a young lady would ever deem appropriate, and rumored to be a reformed rogue, the other man likely had a very good idea as to how a couple stole clandestine moments away from Society’s prying eyes. Christian tugged at his cravat. Perhaps it was best to move beyond the part about enjoying Prudence’s company. “I know she is clever, bold, and courageous, and I’d have her for my wife.”
Through his succinct speech the earl snapped his eyebrows together into a single, angry line. “What do you know of my sister’s company?”
A frustrated sigh escaped him. Yes, it was too much to hope the overprotective, or mayhap, not protective enough given the current circumstances, brother would not hold on with a dogged tenacity to that earlier admission. By the cynical glint in the earl’s eyes, he expected a cleverly crafted lie. As such, Christian was determined to give him the truth. “We have met in the park on several instances.” Fact. “I have partnered her in several sets.” One and a half waltzes. Also fact. And then there had been the stolen kisses on his terrace several days past. And the kiss in the bookshop. Fact, he’d never be so foolish as to mention those particular meetings. Not and expect to live. “And I wish to marry her.”
The earl gnashed his teeth like a fabled dragon prepared to breathe fire upon its foe. Yet for the volatile energy simmering under the surface, the other man maintained a remarkable calm. He passed his gaze over Christian, as though searching for the hidden truths only known by the men who’d served alongside him. “Are you in need of a fortune?”
He stilled. There it was. The question the other man had every right to ask and answers he most certainly deserved as Prudence’s brother. Never before had Christian more despised his financial circumstances than he
did in this moment. “I am,” he said quietly, hating that he was still the same bloody failure he’d always been.
Antipathy emanated from Lord Sinclair. “And do you wish to marry Prudence for her dowry?”
Christian curled his hands over the arms of his chair, his fingertips digging into the immaculate, Italian leather. He was, wasn’t he? Yet, this inability to utter those reprehensible words did not stem from shame, but rather an appreciation for the woman whose hand he now asked for.
“By your silence, I think I have my answer.” Lord Sinclair raked a condescending stare over him.
“Your sister and I come to this marriage with a realistic, clear expectation of what is joining us.”
The other man froze and then a humorless laugh burst from him. “By God, the arrogance of you, St. Cyr. You speak as though I’d permit you to wed Prudence.” He shook his head. “I would never allow my sister to tie herself to a debt-ridden rogue who’d have her for nothing more than the fat purse attached to her name.”
Christian opened and closed his mouth several times. Since he’d resolved to come to the earl’s home and put a formal offer to him for Prudence, he’d anticipated this icy rage, but not once had he considered the prospect that he’d outright reject Christian’s suit. Then why would he support the match when he brought nothing to her? He leaned forward and pressed his palms to the smooth, cold surface of the earl’s desk. “As an older brother, I understand how it is to see one’s sister as a forever child.” The earl’s eyebrows dipped. “Prudence is no girl. She has come to her mind and her decision is one I respect.”
Lord Sinclair snorted. “Of course you respect her decision; it would see you richer by sixty thousand pounds.”
He choked. Sixty thousand pounds?
“Did you underestimate the lady’s true worth?”
The coolly mocking words penetrated Christian’s momentary shock and his patience with the overprotective earl snapped. “The lady is worth more than her dowry.”
Lord Sinclair inclined his head. “Indeed, she is. But she will find herself wed to a man who sees her worth beyond her dowry and doesn’t require it to maintain his roguish lifestyle.”
A white-hot rage descended over his vision, momentarily blinding him. That is how the other man saw him. Likely as a young lord who took his pleasures where he would, when he would and indulged in an extravagant lifestyle, beyond his means. After all, wasn’t that what most members of the ton did? He didn’t know of his staff, composed of Christian’s brothers-in-arms, and their dependency upon him. Nor did this self-righteous bastard deserve those truths. “Are you rejecting my offer for Prudence’s hand?”
At the use of her Christian name, the other man’s narrowed eyes swallowed the blacks of his pupils. “I do not like you, St. Cyr. My sister deserves respectability. She deserves a man with wealth and honor to his name, a man who is not a rogue.” There was none of the venom one would expect of those words, just a plain matter-of-factness that he could well-understand. He didn’t much like himself. “And I will not see one such as you wed her.”
From the other side of her brother’s office door, Prudence’s heart thumped wildly.
…I will not see one such as you wed her… Those words penetrated the wood panel, muffled by the thick oak and by her churning thoughts. Since Patrina’s failed elopement and Sin’s own scandal with the governess-turned-wife, her family had sought to impose their will on not just Prudence, but all of the Tidemore ladies. Through them, they would serve to restore respectability to the name by following that blasted infuriating mantra ingrained into them by their mother.
No scandals. No elopements or rushed marriages. You are to be all things proper at all times…
Yet, they’d relegated her, and Poppy, and Penelope to a stiff, artificial person they’d have as their daughter or sister. They did not want a woman of free thought who carved a life for herself or made decisions that might put the Tidemore name further at risk. She squared her shoulders as those two gentlemen on the opposite side of the door discussed her fate, her future, and her happiness as though she was nothing more than Sin’s daughter being ushered about by a much-needed nursemaid. Prudence firmed her jaw. Well, she’d had enough. She would, as Lady Drake had urged, control her own happiness.
She pressed the handle and stepped into the room.
Her brother and Christian swung their gazes to her and then, for all the vitriol between the two men in their tense discussion, they quickly schooled their expressions and climbed to their feet.
“Prudence,” her brother greeted, frowning at her. “I am speaking with Lord St. Cyr.”
Not taking her gaze from Christian, she closed the door behind her. The chocolate warmth of his eyes enveloped her in a comforting heat, strengthening her resolve. “I gathered that,” she said, infusing the drollness used by her brother all these years.
His frown deepened as she stepped deeper into the room. From the corner of her eye, a splash of white captured her notice, momentarily halting her in her tracks.
The flowers. She returned her eyes to Christian, but his chiseled features may as well have been carved of stone. Smoothing her palms along the front of her skirts, she walked the remainder of the distance and came to a stop beside the empty leather winged back chair at the foot of her brother’s desk. When both gentlemen remained stoically silent, she winged an eyebrow upward and looked between them. “Well? I gather a lady has the right to take part in a discussion involving her own future.” Then, before their wide, unblinking eyes, she sank into the seat. And waited. And continued waiting.
“Prudence,” the marquess began quietly.
“Do not call my sister by her Christian name,” Sin cut into the other man’s words with a sharp command. Then he switched his attention to her. “Nor do you have any part in the discussion between St. Cyr and me. Not at this moment. I will speak to you later.”
Oh all the saints in heaven, she loved her brother. He was loyal and loving and devoted, but goodness if he wasn’t a great, big dunderhead most times. “I am not a child, Sin. I would stay.”
Admiration flared in Christian’s eyes. Had he thought she’d be cowed by her of-late surly brother? Alas, he’d failed to realize she would be cowed by no one.
“Very well,” her brother said stiffly, motioning to Christian’s chair.
Both gentlemen reclaimed their seats. Her brother sat forward in his chair and tapped his fingertips upon the only ledger atop his desk in a grating rhythm until she wanted to shout at him to stop or clamp her hands over her ears. He’d always known just how to grate on her very last nerve.
“The marquess,” he paused to gesture at Christian as though there might be another marquess they now spoke of. “Has asked for your hand in marriage.”
Even suspecting as much as she had when his carriage had rolled up, to the words she’d overheard through the wood paneled door, an odd fluttering danced in her belly.
“And I said no.” A happy fluttering her brother’s words instantly quashed.
Oh, the madness of it all. These men who sat in their seats of power and commanded the lives of all. “You said no,” she said when she trusted herself to speak. She looked to Christian but found his expression curiously flat. “And you said?”
“I didn’t have a chance to respond because of your sudden entrance.” He followed his words with a wink that rang a laugh from her lips.
Her brother glowered at the man who would be his brother-in-law. “I hardly think this is a time for jests.” Hardly a good start to a familial relationship.
She and Christian continued to stare at one another. His expression may as well have been carved from stone. “And what would you have said if I hadn’t made my sudden entrance?”
Some of the brevity left his eyes, revealing the somber, solemn figure who occasionally showed himself—the man hidden beneath the charming rogue he presented to Society. Did anyone see the true person he was underneath? “I would have said it mattered not. I woul
d have said you made your decision and I made mine, and I would wed you, regardless of whether he approves or not.” He continued speaking over Sin’s angry growl. “I would acknowledge that I require your dowry, but it does not mean I do not care for you and respect you.”
He cared for her. And respected her. A ball of emotion wadded in her throat. As much as that unexpected admission filled her, there was also a sharp pang of selfish regret that those words were not somehow more. Why could they not be more? Perhaps in time they would come to be…
But what if they did not?
Her brother, astute as the day was long, pounced on that. “And since we are speaking in terms of a hypothetical conversation,” he began dryly, “I might add that I would have followed St. Cyr’s touching words with my insistence that my sister marry for love and not to a man who merely cares for her.”
A muscle ticked in the corner of Christian’s mouth and with the tension in his broad, powerful shoulders, he tamped down whatever words he truly wished to hurl at her brother’s highhanded head. His lips tilted in the corner, in what she’d come to recognize as his feigned, roguish smile. “And I would add that I intend to wed her anyway. If she will have me,” he added, those quietly spoken words directed to Prudence.
That was his offer to free her from the request she’d put to him. Even with her longing for more from him than a caring, respectful union, she wanted him anyway, and trusted that in time, he could, nay would come to love her. “I will have you.”
He held his hand out and she slid her fingers into his. Home. This was the feeling of coming home. That steady warmth continued spreading through her. She looked at their interconnected hands and then back to a frowning Sin. As much as she intended to take control of her future, regardless of his approval, she wanted him to support her. For she loved her brother and hated hurting him. “You think I’m making a rash decision in marrying Christian,” she said softly. “But I am not. I am being logical, Sin.” Except she lied. For now, she was only thinking with her heart. “No one wants to wed a Tidemore. Christian might not love me…” For a fraction of a heartbeat, she longed for Christian’s denial. Ached to hear the protestation and a promise of love. When he gave no outward reaction, when no denial was forthcoming, pain scissored through her. “But he will wed me,” she said, in deadened tones.
Captivated by a Lady's Charm Page 23
